Revolt (Legends and Love)

My once short blonde hair is now long and blue, falling in waves to my sides. I change the color when I feel like it, exploring and experimenting in ways I was never allowed to before. My image was to be protected—hell, every inch of me was insured, and my management made damn sure I stuck to their carefully cultivated image, even when I fucking hated the diets, tans, boring makeup, and fake blonde hair. I’d risen to success through hard work at a young age, but it thrust me into a spotlight I wasn’t prepared for, full of lions and vipers all wanting a bite, and bite they did. I changed everything for them.

Too fat? I lost weight, becoming obsessed with it.

Too skinny? I binge ate until I was sick.

Too boring? I indulged in drugs and alcohol.

Too scandalous? I donated my money.

Each move was calculated, from being secluded so young to gaining an audience to being told who the hell I could and couldn’t date. Not anymore. Long gone is that scared little girl who depended on everyone else. It was only in my pain and isolation when I realized the truth—they needed me more than I needed them, and that tipped the power to me. I had been alone all along, but now it was time to thrive.

First things first.

Staring up at the sprawling skyscraper that houses Willow Records, I straighten my shoulders and push my sunglasses up my nose, then I stomp into the building in my shit kickers, my short leather skirt rustling with the movement. My fishnets expose the tattoos on my legs, which they will hate, while my leather jacket hides the others. I ignore the calls and astonished looks as I scan my badge and head into the elevator, turning my back to the stunned employees inside and hitting the button I need. Humming to the music in the elevator, I look at the guarded expressions of the people surrounding me, and when the doors open, I step out and grin at them.

“Reign, it’s you!” a shocked employee named Todd exclaims. He’s the office runabout, not that he will ever tell anybody that with his inflated sense of self-importance.

He’s shorter than me, but he spends forever in the gym to make up for his lack of height. With short blond hair and a scary dark tan, he’s a prime example of everything I hate in this world.

He stands there with his phone in hand, probably to call security. “I, um . . . We were . . . I . . . I don’t think—”

“Oh, I know you don’t, Toddy boy.” I pat his cheek condescendingly as I pass and head to the office I need. Opening the door, I meet the shocked and angry eyes of William Waler—my manager.

“Reign, we were not expecting you.” It’s the polite way of saying, what the fuck? “Would you like me to schedule a meeting?” It’s another veiled rejection. That’s the music industry for you; no one ever says what they mean.

“Yes, for now.” I wander to the meeting room. “As fast as possible.” I never issued commands or used the substantial pull I had as one of the world’s biggest rock stars before. I hated it, but now I embrace it and utilize it. This time, the games are in my favor. Others might not get away with that shit, but this record label needs me.

In the next five minutes, they will file into the room to see me sitting at the head of the table with my legs up and a cigarette in my mouth.

“There is no smoking in here,” one admonishes. I forget his name, but I forget most of them.

I ignore his words and blow a ring right at him. “Sit, gentlemen. We have some things to discuss.”

Reluctantly, they follow my directive. I don’t even bother to make introductions to the new faces.

“Reign,” William starts, spreading his hands. “Where have you been? You can’t just disappear—”

“I can and I will,” I snap. “Now listen, this is how it’s going to go—”

“You can’t just come back without returning our calls and waltz in here like you own the place, not to mention that stunt with the new song. What were you thinking?” Willow, the head of the label, roars.

I arch an eyebrow until he sits back down. He’s the one to look away first, but I remember when I could barely meet his eyes. He was like a god to me, but not anymore. He’s just a man—a man I handed my power to. “I needed time, and now I’m back. I have new music, and it will be produced exactly how I say. There will be two albums this year and a tour announcement. I will do interviews”—I hold up my hand when William opens his mouth to speak—“when and with whomever I want to, no others. Everything that has to do with me will be run by me. If not, I will walk out of that door with the rights to my music, which I bought back, and you will never see me again, apart from in the news when I win award after award.”

They share a confused look as I sit back and light another cigarette, giving them time.

“You’re back for good?” William asks.

“I am, with better music than before, but this is my life, my music. I will consider your input, but you will not ever control me again. I am not an asset, I am a person, and you will respect that. Embrace the change, boys.” Standing, I stub out my cig on the table as they wince. “I will await your decision.” As I head to the door, I see the shocked expressions on their faces and know they have never had this happen before.

They control the narrative, the music, and the artists.

Not this one, not ever again.

“Oh, and hire some fucking women, will you? Sexist bastards.” Leaving in a cloud of smoke, I make my way out of the building and into the waiting piranhas outside—the ones I called. Paparazzi scream for me as their cameras flash. I smile and wink, ignoring questions as I reach my car.

It’s all planned and staged. My manager would be proud.

“Reign, is it true you’re back?”

I lift my sunglasses and stare right into the camera. “It’s true. I’m back and you aren’t ready for what I have up my sleeve.” I slide into the car, laughing as they chase me for the final money shot.

Picking up the whiskey in the back, I down a gulp, hating when my manager’s voice slips into my mind. “Don’t be seen drinking too much during the day.” I down another gulp out of spite.

Fuck him. Fuck them all.

It’s the dawn of a new Reign, baby, and this time, I’m doing whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want, starting today.

I know I was photographed during the shopping spree yesterday, and the images went viral within minutes. My arms were laden with designer bags as I was chased by store employees holding more. Then again, more pictures were taken last night after dancing and drinking the night away in an exclusive—but not too exclusive—club and chasing mayhem, then again in the early hours this morning as I entered a hotel with three men—a drummer, a bassist, and a singer from a rock band I respect.

Hours later, I left and waved to the cameras, and I can’t help laughing as my phone blows up. My face is plastered everywhere. I lie on the sofa in last night’s dress and makeup, sucking on a lollipop, with cum dripping from my ass and pussy, and I can’t help but claim victory, especially when my phone rings.

“Speak,” I answer, knowing that the tone is for William and William alone, but instead, Willow’s voice answers.

“We will not be played, but we accept your conditions. We will . . . work together”—I bet it killed him to say that—“starting with this new music. The studio is yours. Produce it and we will come up with a plan. Reign, I’m glad you’re back.” Surprisingly enough, he actually sounds like he means it.

Hanging up, I twist my tongue around the lollipop once more as my face flashes across every channel on the television.

Oh, it’s good to be back.